


In Private

by Hellhounds_of_London



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellhounds_of_London/pseuds/Hellhounds_of_London
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale feels lucky to be the only one who knows of this private side of Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Private

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to post this before I change my mind. It's the first thing I've written that even approaches smut, and as such it's more than a little awkward. But you know who else is a little awkward? Aziraphale. So I guess it works.

Aziraphale slid one hand from Crowley’s back to remove his glasses, followed quickly by Crowley’s own. Now unhindered, they pressed closer, noses and teeth bumping together. Crowley wasted little time in disrobing them both and falling gracelessly onto the bed.  
There, Aziraphale moved from mouth to cheekbone, jaw, then running his lips down Crowley’s collarbone, pressing a kiss to each visible rib, and finally a jutting hip before pausing a brief moment.  
“Angel,” Crowley gasped, both a statement and a plea.  
Aziraphale obliged, drawing a slight moan from his lover. Crowley’s hands gripped bundles of black sheets, something with which to anchor himself.  
This was the Crowley Aziraphale sought out. Those moments when he forgot about the image he cultivated so dutifully, didn’t feel the need to be suave and seductive and sexy-- although Aziraphale didn’t mind that Crowley in the least, the one that whispered in his ear with a forked tongue while running slender fingers down his arm-- and instead let in his only friend. This Crowley, needy and tender and sweet, was the one with whom he had fallen in love. His mind filled with memories of a long ago winter, the sudden sensation of a demon’s lips on his, unexpected but welcome, and the hope that that feeling would never leave.  
Aziraphale knew that this Crowley was kept private. He was the sole person who was entrusted with this Crowley, and he loved it. He was the only one who knew just how broken Crowley had been because of the Fall, what Hell had done to him, and how much he needed Aziraphale. How much they needed each other.  
Now, Crowley groaned, whimpered, and yes, hissed a little as Aziraphale brought him closer to orgasm. He let go of the sheets with one hand to run his fingers through the angel’s curls, gripping perhaps a bit too tight as he climaxed. Afterwards, he collapsed onto the pillows, panting. Having spat into the nearby wastebin, Aziraphale turned back to his lover, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Before he could satisfy his own lust, Crowley sat up, still reeling a little, and took the angel’s hands in his own.  
“No, let me,” he whispered. “Let me.”  
Aziraphale just nodded and let Crowley gather him in his thin arms, leaning his head on the demon’s shoulder as Crowley pleasured him. There was nothing aggressive or seductive about him now. At times, especially near the beginning of their physical relationship, Aziraphale felt a bit swept along with Crowley’s advances. They exhilarated him, though he was most comfortable in his unassuming body and unassuming clothes. There was no doubt that Aziraphale liked being seduced by the person he loved most in the world. But there were also times that he felt they were on equal ground, that Crowley was as caught up in desire as he was, and that filled him with a different sort of joy. He had never truly understood why sex was referred to as lovemaking until he was with Crowley.  
Once the angel, too, had been reduced to a panting, moaning mess, Crowley released him and tidied up the bed with a flick of his wrist, even remembering to remove the last drop of his own semen from Aziraphale’s chin.  
The angel opened his clear blue eyes and looked into Crowley’s slitted yellow ones. Knowing what he was about to say, Crowley smiled and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck.  
“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s hair. “I love you more than I should.”  
“I love you too. More than I knew was possible.”  
Somewhere in this interim, they had managed to settle onto the bed comfortably, limbs still tangled together, close enough to feel each other’s breath on their skin.  
The next morning, Aziraphale knew, Crowley would once again be full of snarky comments and sly grins, but for now, he was open and near, and Aziraphale reveled in knowing that it was just for him, that he was the one to have access to this private Crowley, secret and soft and in love.


End file.
